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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788704">Love Is a Cunning Weaver</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quamquam20/pseuds/quamquam20'>quamquam20</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal, Breeding, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasizing, Force Choking (Star Wars), Kissing in the Rain, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pregnancy Kink, So Married</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:07:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quamquam20/pseuds/quamquam20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite his best efforts, Kylo's fantasies take some unexpected turns.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>327</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love Is a Cunning Weaver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Kylo licks his lips as he settles into a rhythm.</p><p>The hull-buzzing ion engines are far below his bed, and all he notices is the practiced, dragging pull of his hand on his cock.</p><p>
  <em>He's got her pinned and he just has to get his pants open. She doesn't want to want it, but she absolutely does. Has for a while. As much as he craves it, she needs it more, like a growl through the bond. He pushes in roughly and she shouts, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him closer. She kisses him, touches his hair.</em>
</p><p>No. What the hell?</p><p>He grips himself harder, trying again.</p><p>
  <em>The blade of her lightsaber barely misses him and he reaches out to choke her with the Force, doesn't need to use his hands to lift her from the ground, her feet kicking frantically. He wants to touch her through her clothes. Instead, he lets her go and embraces her and she uses his real name and he's crying against her shoulder-</em>
</p><p>For fuck's sake.</p><p>An exasperated sigh and he nearly gives up. It's not supposed to be this much work—just a vicious, single-minded urge and some fantasies of taking her however he wants. But lately it's been sprinkled with... something else.</p><p>It would be easier if he stopped fighting it.</p><p>
  <em>He's only got the head of his cock in her, but it's more than enough. She's never felt it there before, and she was mortified when he told her where he was going to fuck her, but working into her tightness and reminding her to breathe has made it so hard not to come. It's worth it to feel her uncertainty drift away into understanding and need as he starts to thrust carefully, moving through the slick-squeezed muscles. He tastes the back of her neck, pushing in a little more when he feels her relax at his touch. He reaches down to the joining of her thighs, rubbing before he pushes his fingers in, and she bucks her hips and drives back onto him herself. He's murmuring encouragement, telling her that she's taking so much of him. That it's going to make him lose it if she keeps doing that shaking, gripping thing. That he knows it feels good even though it's wrong. She's sweaty, her skin flushed under tan lines and scars.</em>
</p><p>That's better. Less jarring, anyway.</p><p>
  <em>She runs over, lit with happiness, and kisses him. They're enveloped by the swirl of his cape, and she tells him she's pregnant. She doesn’t need to—the Force sings with it; she is a fortress with a new galaxy inside. When they're in bed, she’s strong but he’s so careful with her until right before he comes and he's driven by some surging thing to load her up again and put himself in her, to make her his. To feel where he pours thickly into her and they mix and they aren't the last of their lines anymore. That they can splice and twist their blood and make more of their own rare kind.</em>
</p><p>Okay, that one was too much. He's nauseated by his own imagination and he knows that, objectively, getting off to the idea of choking somebody is more messed up than the thought of consensually knocking them up. But one of those feels a lot more dangerous when it's someone he's trying to destroy.</p><p>What has she done to him?</p><p>
  <em>They're somewhere safe, years from now. She's drawn to water in a way he can only attribute to too many days on a parched planet, and she yanks off her boots and rolls up her pants to wade in any forest-trickling stream or shore-lapping waves they find. He loves watching it flow over her, how it catches on the soft, light hairs that make her skin feel like velvet. The delighted noises she makes the first time he takes her to a waterfall, the tireless way she lets oceans call to her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The blooming garden is vivid in the morning rain, warm petrichor scent filling their house through open windows and courtyard arches. She comes to get him, drags him out into it, soaked gravel path crunching under their feet. Smiles expectantly up at him, blinking when the rain drips from his hair onto her face. He knows the routine. Hand to her cheek, gentle. Brings his lips down to hers. Not gentle. Open and hot and she always breathes so deep, it feels like she's inhaling him. He'd let her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She tries to climb him- up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. Her tongue is slick and strong and he hurries to unfasten his pants—the metal button hard to grab with his wet fingers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She drops to her knees; beneath the mud-stained cloth, the gravel will leave bruises that he'll heal later in a steaming shower. He's never fast enough for her here, so she tugs at his waistband to help him. And when his cock is out, she stares. Always. Watches how the drops of rain trail down the sides and when it's too much for her, she buries him in the back of her throat and the heat of it after the cool rain makes him shudder. It's more slippery than the water she's tasting on him, and he leans down to watch the shine of her mouth spread, where her pink lips stretch to take him. Goosebumps prickle along her arms when a breeze passes over her damp skin.</em>
</p><p>This one feels different. More like a memory than a dream. He keeps going.</p><p>
  <em>She gags when he thrusts deep, but looks up at him with tear-glossed hazel eyes to nod. And she has no idea. How she looks, doused and eager, her hand reaching between her legs. How he's going to inundate her, how he wants to completely overflow her. Or maybe she does, because she drinks him long when he comes, her throat working to gulp while her lips keep sipping.</em>
</p><p>He groans as he empties, finally. A tight, tired wringing that still manages to make it worth it. All of it.</p><p>
  <em>Their storm-sopping clothes leave puddles on the polished floor. She started the shower before she went to find him, and the refresher billows with steam as they strip. When he follows her in, he can't keep his hands off of her. Her muscles, firm from training, melt under his touch. Kissing her here, after, he can taste himself, can feel exactly how he used her perfect lips and made her jaw tired. A crashing roll of thunder outside as he gets to his knees in front of her. She hooks one leg over his shoulder and braces herself for the way his tongue moves and his fingers work.</em>
</p><p>It's not a memory, he realizes. It's a future, not yet gone. Still within reach.</p><p>When he falls asleep in his hushed room, it's with a lighter feeling than he's had in years.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next time he sees her, she's not happy. Rey glares at him from across the reverberating Force connection.</p><p>He stares, lightsaber hanging uselessly on his belt.</p><p>“What?” she snaps.</p><p>“I-” He doesn't have a plan. Always just making it up as he goes. He imagines her reaction if he told her that, one day, he'll go down on her in their shower during a rainstorm. That the age-burnished floors of their home are ancient and the courtyard there is lush and full of vines right now. That it's growing and waiting and he had no idea until three days ago. It's almost enough to make him laugh.</p><p>“What is it?” Rey crosses her arms over her chest, frustrated, but maybe a little worried by the way he's fighting off a smile.</p><p>“I think about you,” he says lamely. It's a start.</p><p>Rey scrunches up her face in confusion, and <em>that</em> is the exact moment he knows that he is in love with her.</p><p>“I can't stop,” he admits, and even he hears the thawing in his voice. The clarity.</p><p>Her expression smooths and he thinks she's the most beautiful person alive. Especially when her eyes soften and the corners of her mouth lift in the tiniest, secret smile.</p><p>And, after that, there's nothing else for him but her.</p><p> </p>
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